


I See What’s Happening Here

by DenimCladNightmare (TrippingBagel)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: A contemplative allegory on mental health, Character with ADHD, Characters of Indeterminate Gender - Freeform, Comedy of Errors, Gen, Ghosts, Gore, Horses, I mean I’m the author and I actually don’t know, I stab you drive - Freeform, I wrote this in first person so I wouldn’t have to figure out pronouns, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, and dissociative conformity, comedy as a coping mechanism, dressed as an adventure comedy, dyslexic character, go ahead, guess if it works, mostly just one really, or just horse, questionable use of bedsheets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29202528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrippingBagel/pseuds/DenimCladNightmare
Summary: It's not terribly hard, being a Mary Sue. I should know, after all, I am one. Complete with beautiful (insert bodily feature here), and an outstanding (insert personality trait here). The only prevailing issue I have with my present situation being that I'm not a Mary. I'm a Gary.
Comments: 2





	1. I See What’s Happening Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the fic. It’s basically what it says in the tags but with a bit of plot thrown in here and there. And yes, I do have an updating schedule, I’ll give you two for now, and then the next will probably be out every Thursday until I run out of pre-written chapters. I hope you all enjoy!  
> Also, I did originally post this on ffnet, so if you really want all the present chapters I suppose you can head over there, or you could, just... be patient...
> 
> official a/n: so right now chapters are whatever me and my stuffed squid have time to write. they may get longer, but don’t hold your breath.

Now let me make this clear before we get started. I’ve got nothing against Transgender people, hell, one of my best friends is one. Was one. Before I came here.

“Where’s here?” you might ask. Welp, here is Imladris, Rivendell of Middle Earth, in the Third Age, year 3018, 24 of December, 6 o’clock in the morning. To make that perfectly clear for you, the Council of Elrond is tomorrow, and thus begins the War of the Ring.

In case you hadn’t figured it out yet, I’m a nerd and proud.

Now back to Transgender people. Why that particular topic? Well, because it’s a rather bumpy ride on the struggle bus when you have never—and most likely will never,—felt like a different gender than that of your own very masculine physical form, only to wake up one day, undeniably female. In the middle of nowhere. Laying on a dirt road. With the huge horse barreling down on you about to introduce your trampled guts to the ground, in short order.

One of the many interesting things I did not anticipate when finding myself suddenly in the female form, was the mass distribution. In the event that you are a cromulently functioning human being whose consciousness has never been forcibly removed from your body and placed in one of the opposite gender, let me explain to you why this is relevant:

There isn’t a huge difference in the mass distribution between a a male and a female body; we’re all just squishy bags of meat in the grand scheme of things. But let me tell you, the center of gravity is most definitely different. Maybe it doesn’t seem like it to you, just looking at the two, but it is. Girls and boys are not built the same.

Of course this didn’t occur to me until I was frantically attempting to untangle myself from my bed sheets and get _out of the way._

Understand my dilemma?

Sort of derailing the present conversation here, though I’ll get back to it, notice how I said ‘consciousness’ earlier, not ‘bodily transformed’? Yeah, that’s because I’m pretty sure this is not simply a female manifestation of my body. In fact, I don’t think this is _me_ at all.

My theory, going solely off of the blonde bed-head obscuring my vision and the steadily growing pool of blood ruining my nice white sheets, is that this was just a convenient meat sack for the universe to stick me in. Because, last I checked, I wasn’t blonde. Nor was I bleeding out, oddly enough.

And the reason _that’s_ pertinent, my patient friends, is because it’s another tick in favor of me _not_ getting out of the path of the aforementioned barreling horse.

For future reference, my ungainly flopping and wriggling movement from the path of imminent sticky death was most definitely caused by the unfamiliar body and the bleeding out bit. It had nothing to do with a certain lack of caffeine at this ungodly hour of the morning.


	2. ‘Cause I’ve Got A Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a/n: chapter two. enjoy.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the tall green cloaked guy staring at me.

Ok. That’s an elf (Legolas, my addled mind supplied, Thranduilion, Greenleaf—), I can deal with that. This is also starting to look suspiciously Tolkien-esque. I can deal with that too. 

It’s as I suspected. I’m a 10th walker. A Mary Sue in the flesh. And you know what? That’s okay.

You know what’s not okay? Being a Mary Sue necessitates being female. Which I am decidedly not. Not that anyone let the Universe in on that.

“And who are you, my lady?”

And that was the exact point in time when I came to the stunning conclusion that Charles is not an exceedingly effeminate name.

Go ahead. Doubt my brilliance. Your inevitably encroaching sarcasm will be like water droplets rolling of the feathers of a duck to me. I do not answer to you plebeians. I can take it. I’m made of sterner stuff than anyone ever gives me credit for.

Being made of stern stuff, and with a very knowledgeable and cultured brain in my head—I blanked.

The horse (huge, scary, I don’t like horses—) was looking at me strangely, and breathing at me. Horse, what a word. I have (had) a Spanish exam coming up, you know, and horse in Spanish is caballo. 

That was the first thing that ran through my poor brain-farted mind, and the first thing that came out of my mouth.

“Caballo,” I said, and now that’s my name.


	3. You Say I’m Crazy, Well That’s Not Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horse-person returns in, “Lord of the Grammar HD”.

_::: Chapter 3 ::: You Say I’m Crazy, Well That’s Not Fair_  
  
“Kaby-yo.”

I ducked my head into my bloody bedsheet to hide what must have been the nineteenth eye roll of the day. I think the pronunciation rules of Leggy dearest’s native tongue must be fundamentally different than that of Spanish, because, despite hours of effort, he has not once said my chosen name correctly.

Speaking of my present covering, no, I have do not have any idea why my bedsheet came with me to this world, which I am now almost positive is Mr. Tolkien’s Middle Earth. I’m pretty sure no human commoner—as I believe I am presently—would have access to 600 thread count white cotton/polymer bedsheets. Though with the way my day is going, I’d be sincerely impressed, but not overly surprised if someone proves me wrong in the near future.

“No, that’s still not it. It’s Ca-BYE-yo.”

The blonde elf made a disgruntled noise as he tried to figure that into his speech. At least, I _think_ it was a disgruntled noise as I’m sitting in front of him on this massive snorting beast he dares to call a horse and can’t see him well enough to properly judge. And boy oh boy. Just as a passing warning, _never, ever, not in a million years_ voluntarily hop on a huge fricking _dinosaur_ of a horse (with no saddle because this elf is fricking weird) when naked and residing in a female body. Especially when you’ve just spent half an hour getting a massive hole in your stomach patched up so you don’t bleed to death. My sheet doesn’t help. This is pain. And suffering.

“Here, here, look,” and this must be my thirty-third attempt to explain it, “it’s spelled C-A-B-A-L-L-O. In the language of origin, the double L makes a Y sound. As in torti _ll_ a, and si _ll_ a. It’s just adding an ‘eee’ sound to the end of the vowel preceding it and a ‘yuh’ sound to the beginning of the vowel following it. Because caballo has an A before the double L, it makes a sound like an uppercase I, and the O after it sounds like a YO. You get me? Cah-bye (like bai) -yo.”

There was silence for a few moments as my elven traveling companion turned this over in his head.

“Kabiyo.”

I let my elf-induced headache vent itself out in a loud groan. I swear he’s doing it on purpose. Unwilling to let it go, but giving it a pause for now, I grumbled halfheartedly, “Your C sound is too sharp.”

“Hn,” said Legolas noncommittally. I’m just glad that he progressed from calling me Cabby followed by a wuff of air like getting punched in the gut. It’s a start.


	4. Hold Your Head Up, Movin’ On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of a promising career in the Mary Sue industry.

I found a good use for the sheet, in case you were wondering.

Turns out the Orc Packs were even closer to Imladris than was ever portrayed in any of the books and movies. That being said, I’m still glad we didn’t have Nazgul after us or something. That would suck. Even more than our present situation. I wonder if I could defeat a Nazgul? I mean, I still know I’m a man, but my present bodily condition says otherwise so, who knows? Anything’s possible, I suppose.

Along those lines, I wonder who I’ll get to save. To be true to classic Mary Sue form, I need to save or help out one of the Fellowship. Though I suppose there could be a minor character in distress waiting for me... meh. I’m pretty sure my main love interest is supposed to be Legolas here... hey wait a minute, if I’m a Mary Sue does that mean there’s an author up there dictating my life choices at their whim? That’s not cool, bro!

But the thought has merit. I’ll have to put serious consideration into this. If it’s true... well. We’ll see. For now, Turdblossom in the Sky has decided to throw a challenge at me, as I mentioned earlier. (And boy do I love that insult. Thanks Star-Lord.)

Said challenge comes in the form of a hungry—I hope that’s all it is—Orc Pack who seem to have put us on their menu. Speaking of which, in the LoTR movies, the orcs mentioned menus, which makes me wonder... menus... bistros... in Mordor? Point being, there is a lot we don’t know about Orcs.

Orcs like the ones presently attacking us. Right. That’s a thing. They’d first come upon us just as the mountain pass to the glittering city came into view. Legolas spurred his horse, and it took off like a bat out of hell (not fun, just so you know. Excruciating, actually).

At which point my Loreal-Paris commercial worthy companion decided it would be a brilliant idea to take out his bow, turn around, and shoot the buggers. In order to do this, he had the presence of mind—or lack there-of—to give me the reigns. News flash: horses hate me. Coincidentally, considering my new tag.

The moment the reigns were in my hands, and not those of the considerably more competent elf behind me, the demon—I’m sorry, I meant horse, rebelled.

His undoubtedly long and meticulously planned rebellion occurred in the form of stopping. Suddenly and dramatically. It was only by sheer luck that I managed to stay on. Poor Leggy was a goner. Right over the head of the horse, and myself, and straight to the ground. In a very painful looking manner.

Ouch for him, but I had other things to worry about, as the horse then decided to take off, in a hurry to get anywhere but there, leaving his rider to face the music, as it were. Did I mention I was still on it? Right. I was still on it, so I went with.

It took me about three minutes and I don’t know how many acres to slow the beast. When he finally came to a complete stop, I hauled my aching bum off his very spiny back, with a whole lot of pain involved for all parties, and moved to stand before him.

See I’d come to a realization while fleeing. That being that the Fellowship cannot survive without Legolas, no matter what I do, so he has to get to Imladris. And oh no, I think my crowning Mary Sue glory is approaching, and I’ve barely been here twelve hours.

That in mind, I planted my self, all my petit, blond bed-headed, barely patched, sheet wrapped fury right in front of the demon creature’s nose, with it in my mind to come to an understanding with the beast, no matter the cost.

My strategy: “You,” I pointed at him, “don’t like me. And that’s fine.” Staring the thing straight in the eyes was harder than expected, because I hadn’t accounted for his not being on the front of his face, but I like to think I managed well enough. “I don’t like you either.” I got snort for that. “And don’t think that’s gonna matter either, dipstick. I haven’t been here long enough to develop anything close to a relationship, it’s barely even an acquaintanceship right now, actually, but I do know one thing. That elf you dumped, he’s going to help save the world. So I’m going to drag myself back up on you, and you are going to take me back to him, and _help_. Comprende?”

The horse chuffed at me, but he didn’t bolt. I took that as affirmative. After multiple embarrassing attempts, which I refuse to go into detail over, I sort of kind of settled myself of his back. And then we were off.

I’d like to say I had some modicum of control over him this time, but unfortunately, I can’t. It was just as much of a wild, disastrous terror fest as it had been the first time, only now going in the opposite direction. By the time we came careening into the battle, as much as fifteen, now six orcs versus one elf could be called that, I had cobbled together the start of a plan.

I know, it’s very impressive and all—the start of a plan, that is. Trust me, the execution was even more so.

Having detangled my sheet from where it was wrapped around my body, I scrunched it into a loose rope and, grabbing one end, pulled the rest of it around and doubled it in my hand, so I had a loose three foot long noose shape, with the top ends clenched in my fist, hanging next to the horse. I could only pray that my mount understood the plan.

Legolas was surrounded when we got there, and had already taken out a goodly number of orcs. Which was stupidly impressive, but whatever (Yondu is the One). Evidently, judging by the surprised and reasonably terrified looks on their faces, those particular orcs had not been expecting a very determined, very naked she-human trying to ride them down on a monster horse when they planned today’s meal. Well, sucks to be them. They should have come up with a better plan. Because no one expects the Spanish Inqui—sorry, got a bit distracted there.

Anyway, there were two of them standing conveniently in a row on my side of Legolas, so I nudged my demon steed in that direction. As he charged by them, I swung my sheet noose down to catch the first one, then the second, in it’s loop, and twisted my hand downward, leaning down and holding on tight to the horse so the weight of two orcs being dragged along the ground didn’t pull me off.

Legolas took the time I gave him to prove smarter than I initially expected. Instead of standing there gaping for several moments like the orcs, he only gaped for one moment, and got back into the fight in the next. Putting an arrow through the two orcs I was dragging, he jumped on another and stuck a dagger through its neck, blinding the fourth with the spray of black blood, and cutting it open from shoulder to hip as it staggered about.

Then there were two. In a fit of madness I will deny until kingdom come, I started humming ‘Five Green and Speckled Frogs,’ only skipped to the two frogs verse. Luckily I don’t think Leggy heard. The horse gave me a strange look though. I wonder if equine dams tell their children nursery rhymes.

While I was busy contemplating the question of sentience, Legolas put another knife (where do they all come from?!) through the fifth orc’s chest, and shot the last one in the head.

Well, I thought to myself, that was anticlimactic. So much for crowing glory. I’ll have to work harder if I want any sort of good rating. Oh no, I’ve started to accept my new reality. This can’t be good.

At which point I noticed Leggy dearest’s searing blush and the averted eyes. It was around that time when I remembered my current state of undress.

“Not a word,” I said to the elf, hurrying to dismount and fetch my poor, bedraggled sheet from where his arrow had pinned it to the orc bodies. “Not a word.”


	5. Close Your Eyes and the Glory Fades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The abrupt and ignoble end of said promising career.

“Nope, nope, I’m absolutely fine!” I’m not sure if I was trying to reassure Legolas or myself with that particular statement. “No imminent mental breakdowns here!”

“If you’re sure, but—”

“Appreciated but unnecessary, my elvish friend, I’m allllllllll good. Promise. Promise? _Promise_.” The last bit was mumbled into my very stylish, fashionably ripped, reddened, and rumpled bedsheet dress, but I think he heard me anyway.

So maybe I lied. No big deal, happens all the time. See, the thing is, I am _not_ okay with all of this. I didn’t want to get shoved into some dead lady’s body in an unfamiliar world, no matter how much I may have studied it. I didn’t want to deal with so many near-death experiences in less than twenty-four hours, and I certainly didn’t ask to help _kill_ living creatures. I mean, they are orcs who wanted to eat me, but I wasn’t ready to kill them!

If I’m being completely honest, I just want to curl up and cry. I don’t know how the Mary Sues do it! I’ve had enough stress to last me two lifetimes, thanks, and I... I just want to go home. To my normal body, my own family, and the best friend a person could ever ask for. I want to be anywhere but _here_. Riding through the gates of an elven city, in a world so alike, yet so different from my own. I want my _home_.

But, well that’s not really happening right now.

Right now, the gates are closing behind us, and we’re riding towards the central palace place. Elfy seems concerned.

“Really,” he said, “I could get you a calming tea from one of the healers when we arrive if you should need it?”

“I’m fine, Legolas. I’ll be alright.”

So, as Uncle Jim always used to say, suck it up, buttercup. And buckle up too, cause life on the struggle bus is never, ever, smooth.


	6. I Knew That You Were Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like bedsheets in Buckingham.

Why do I feel like a bloodstained bedsheet isn’t proper attire to meet royalty in?

I get that he’s not got a crown yet, and Leggy here’s already seen me in the nude, so my track record so far isn’t very impressive, but still. This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isuldur’s heir, Elessar. This dude is going to be _king_. My bedsheet just doesn’t make me feel worthy.

He met us on the way in, and Legolas did his best to explain what I told him of my present situation, since I didn’t want to screw with events here too much just by showing up. It’s the usual shtick; I don’t remember who I am really (not a big lie there), or where I came from, or why I have a huge hole in my stomach. You know, the usual. When I first told my elven companion, he figured I should go on with him to Imladris, which was conveniently close, and ask Lord Elrond what to do. I didn’t disagree, so here we are.

“My Lord,” I only realized half a moment after addressing him that I shouldn’t know who he is. Oops. Time to wing it then, just like usual.

The ranger king stared at me for a moment, and I stared back. Awkwardly. Situation normal then, I suppose.

“How did you—” he finally asked.

Starting my brilliant track record with the man, I decided to interrupt him, like the happy little sh*t that I am. “I have no idea.”

“What?” Aragorn seemed confused.

“I mean, I have no idea who you are or why I addressed you that way. It’s been happening a lot recently, you know, this random remembering thing, I wonder if it’s a side effect of being stabbed. Did I hit my head? Or maybe, hear me out, it’s a long and complicated childhood story involving adventures and saving people and—” there I go, rambling again. Not my strong suit, lying. I tend to ramble and give my self away. Oops.

“You seem to struggle a lot with staying focused, Lady...” Ah, he was waiting for my name. I don’t think he entirely believed my fantabulous lie, but we’ll work on than later.

“Eh, I blame the ADHD. And I’m no lady. I’m just Caballo.”

“The what?”

“Never mind.”

Aragorn gave me a curious look. “Well, right this way then, my Lady Cabbyoh. Let’s go see Lord Elrond.”

I stared after the Ranger for a moment in abject horror; the name thing was _catching_. I then proceeded to give up on life entirely and shake my fist aggressively at the sky.“This is all your fault, Turdblossom!”

I then followed Aragorn like the lost puppy I no doubt will be for the duration of my stint in Middle Earth, however long that may be.


End file.
